


Starry Eyed

by neverweremine



Category: Klaus (2019)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21765634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverweremine/pseuds/neverweremine
Summary: He placed the wood in the furnace and closed the cover. The flames crackled to life, chasing away the chill gained from sitting outside for hours. He ventured over to the cupboards and opened them. Hmm. What should he have for dinner tonight? Moldy bread? The remains of a ham sandwich he should've thrown out a month ago? Crackers? The meat he'd forgotten to salt, thus filling the room with expired meat stench?
Comments: 24
Kudos: 103





	Starry Eyed

The day the Battle Bell rang its last war cry was the day of the Ellingboe/Krum wedding. Spring had come and the town square tittered with excitement as Mr. Ellingboe led his daughter down the aisle. As the few non-family members attending the wedding, they had seated Alva, Jesper, and Mogens in the back row. A difficult spot to witness the ceremony from, but then again, the ceremony wasn't Mogens' focus.

"Will you stop that?" Alva hissed. She had her hair in a neat bun and the long, poofy sleeves she wore swayed in the wind.

Mogens popped another appetizer in his mouth. Mmm. The best thing about back row seating was the reception two feet behind them. "What? We'll eat the stuff, anyway."

"Yes. _After_ the ceremony. "

"Miss Alva, I congratulate your discipline and the fortitude you must have to ignore such close temptations, but I'm not like you. I'm a weak man — "

"Shush," Jesper motioned them to quiet, his eyes wet with unshed tears. He had a suit on — the cost of which exceeded triple what any Smeerensburg citizens could afford — and he was dabbing at his eyes with a silk handkerchief. _Silk_. "They're saying their vows."

The vows were short. She said, "Mine," and then he said, "Mine," and then they were exchanging rings and kissing. The Battle Bell — or Former Battle Bell — rang, and everyone cheered. Mogens bowed his head and placed his cap over his heart.

"Don't tell me you're crying," Alva whispered over Jesper's sniffling.

"I'm mourning." He answered. "I'll miss that Battle Bell. The way everyone stopped in their chores to stab each other, the battle cries that lasted 'til midnight — but overall I'll miss conning people into pulling it: the postmen, the greedy tycoon types looking to expand," he sneaked her a grin; wide and unabashed, " _you_. Do you remember that? You were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed from your diploma back then, and so gullible-"

The slap on his shoulder was well worth it.

"Well, keep mourning. The Battle Bell's gone and you have no more people to trick. The town's changed for the better."

She was right. It was official; the centuries-long feud was ending with the wedding. The once ill-kept town had cleaner streets, kinder people, and a working post office. If anyone had told him a year ago that this was Smeerensburg's future he'd have laughed himself hoarse — but the town had changed for the better.

So where did that leave him?

.

A familiar pulse throbbed through his skull, shaking its innards and pressing underneath his eyelids. His mouth had the unfortunate acidic taste of bitten back vile and booze fumes. A hangover. Not the first time he'd woken hungover. Won't be the last. He pressed his back against the familiar soft mattress. At least he'd gotten to bed before passing out. He was drifting his way back to sleep when something flung itself over his stomach. Soft but bony. His eyes popped open.

Jesper.

He'd woken up in bed next to _Jesper_.

He sprung to a sitting position, pulling the blankets with him and kicking Jesper onto the floor in the process. "Ow." The postman cried. Mogens was too busy taking inventory to notice. Pants? Check. Sweater? Check. He patted his head in dismay. Where were his hat and jacket?

Jesper popped over the bed's edge; hair in disarray and night clothes rumpled. "What was that for?"

"What are you doing in my bed?"

"Excuse me," he spread out his arms, and it was only then that Mogens realized he was on the upper floor of the post office, "you're in _my_ bed."

He grabbed at his head; the throbbing becoming unbearable as he tried to remember. After the ceremony, he'd gone straight for the booze. There was dancing, food, laughter ... He had a vague memory of making Jesper trip over his own handkerchief but after that… nothing. "What am I doing here?"

"You busted in at midnight."

Oh.

"You came in…" Jesper's face became pinched, eyebrows drawn and mouth puckered, "saying things."

 _Oh_.

"Look," Mogens dragged his hand against his face. It was too early for this. "I don't mean to disappoint you. I think you're handsome and everything — "

"You do?"

He gave Jesper a once over. Twig arms and legs, stick feet, a nose that could serve as a lighthouse when it grew red from the cold. "Ehhhh?" He raised his hand in a so-so gesture.

"Please get out of my bed."

Mogens chuckled. If the postman was making demands, then that meant he wasn't too heartbroken. "Will do." He swung his feet over and spotted his jacket and hat laid over a trunk. "Again, I'm sorry for coming on to you. I can usually hold myself better than that but it was a wedding, and _hey, free booze!_ Won't happen again — "

A strangled bird-like squawk stopped him as he was putting on his hat. He gave Bernard, perched on the rafters, a glance — and at his slumbering form, lowered his eyes to a red-faced Jesper.

"What — What do you think happened last night?"

"Did I not hit on you while in a drunken stupor?"

"No!" Jesper yelled; aghast. Bernard didn't move an inch.

Mogens placed a hand on his chest and exhaled in relief. "Oh good, because if I did, I would've had to cut back and have a chat with drunk-me on what counts as attractive. Again, not that you're not … No, I can't lie like that — "

"You told me I took your place," Jesper shouted. Quieter, he said, "Something about you living here before?"

God, he must've been drunker than he thought. Shrugging on his jacket, Mogens replied using his most nonchalant voice, "Yeah, I used to use this place as a resting spot between postmen. A little rest and relaxation. Must've gotten confused while drunk and came here. Sorry, my mistake."

And that should've been it. They'd laugh. He'd make his way back to his boat. Jesper would do his postman duties. The end.

"Do you have a place to stay?"

Mogens stilled. He couldn't be — The ferryman peered behind him, and yes, Jesper was serious. Eyebrows drawn low, shoulders stiff, a frown on his lips. He was too hungover for this. He grabbed his hat, put it on, and descended the ladder.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Out of here."

Jesper scurried after him. "If I'm sleeping here, where do you sleep?"

"I'm not a homeless crab. I have a house."

"Where?"

"Back on the mainland. It's not too far from the shack you found me in."

"Okay, so then where do you sleep while you're on Smeerensburg?"

Mogens paused as he tested the floorboards with the tip of his boot. They had painted the place new, repaired the gaps in the wall, but the floor ...

"What are you doing?"

The floor creaked, three from the desk and right in the middle, as he remembered. He bent to his knees and pried the floorboard loose, then smiled. There, waiting for him, was the dusty bottle of rum sitting right where he left it.

"What the — has that always been there?"

He twisted the cork off and took a swig instead of answering.

"Any other hiding places I should know about?"

"One cubbyhole has a false back, but I emptied that out before you came here. Oh no, don't give me," he gestured to Jesper's face; the wide eyes, the small pout, " _that_. When I'm here, I sleep in the lower deck of my boat. It isn't big, but it does fine."

Uncertainty lingered in the postman's gaze. He remembered the spoiled brat from months ago, the one asking for a dinner menu and a hot bath — the one who would have kicked him out without thought. Oh, how far he came. Mogens found himself missing the spoiled brat. "Don't worry, I wasn't _that_ attached to this place."

"You said you named all the chickens. If you ask me, that sounds pretty attached."

"Yeah, well no one asked you. They're your chickens now and you can name them whatever you want."

"But — "

"I'm off now," Mogens said. He grinned the biggest, laziest grin he could manage, "Gotta get back home and do some actual work."

Jesper's mouth curved, his tongue on the verge of protest, but Mogens hastened past him and out the door. "Well, see ya later. Thanks for the bed. Bye!"

.

He placed the wood in the furnace and closed the cover. The flames crackled to life, chasing away the chill gained from sitting outside for hours. He ventured over to the cupboards and opened them. Hmm. What should he have for dinner tonight? Moldy bread? The remains of a ham sandwich he should've thrown out a month ago? Crackers? The meat he'd forgotten to salt, thus filling the room with expired meat stench?

The downside to having a traveling job; food was never as fresh as you'd left it a week ago.

He could head to the market. It was an hour's walk away but — No, the shops will close by the time he made it. He eyed the fishing pole and net laid next to the door. Fishing was always a choice. On the one hand, he'd have fresh food to eat. On the other, he'd have to leave the comforts of his house for the cold outdoors again.

Closing the cupboard, Mogens opened the cabinet under the sink and fished out a bottle of brandy, then headed to his room.

.

"Please, you've got to help me," Jesper begged. Mogens paused in lowering the anchor. The postman's eyes were wide, his hair a mess, and his knees wobbled as if he could collapse at any moment. "You have to help me.

"What?"

.

"Here," Jesper threw the door open. "They're driving me crazy. You know how to handle them, right? Please tell me you do."

A chicken hopped onto the floor, envelope in beak and leaving behind a trail of feathers. Another chicken waddled by, its entire back featherless. In the corner, Gunhild was pecking at poor Ninna, whose skin showed in little patches. Mogens scooped her up and shooed Gunhild away.

"They're molting," He noted as he soothed her feathers. She had bald spots on the back of her neck and the front of her chest. Gunhild circled his feet and he raised Ninna higher in arms, "And pecking each other."

"What is molting? Is that normal?"

"In the fall before it gets cold, yes. In the middle of Spring? No."

Jesper winced as Tham nipped him on the finger before retaking her envelope and waddling off elsewhere. "So how do we stop it?"

"Well, depends, how long ago have you cleaned their roost?"

There was a beat of silence. "Do what now?"

"Changed out their water supply?"

Another, more poignant, beat of silence. "Do what now?"

.

"How did you sleep here before?"

Mogens swung the hammer against the board. Why did he agree to this again?

"No, bad chicken! That's not for you!" Jesper yelped as Tham ducked her head into his bag. His arms pinwheeled and he fell, his elbows landing in a pile of bedding; the wood shavings they swept into a pile bounced into the air and scattered. Tham, victorious with yet another envelope in her clutches, set it on the ground and started shredding.

Oh yeah. That's right. Because if he left it to Jesper, the poor chickens will peck each other to death.

"Help me!" The postman yelped. He reached out a bandaged hand towards Tham but one glance from Gunhild had him cowering back.

"Give it up. The letter's a goner."

The postman flopped over like a gangly rag-doll and sighed as chickens crowded his body, nipping at his hat and sleeves and pants legs. Mogens dropped his hammer. If Jesper was taking a break, then so was he.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Hmm?" He brought out his flask.

"How did you survive sleeping here? I mean, this place was a wreck; the door wasn't on its hinges, the chickens kept stealing things, it snowed indoors. There's a rooster perch two feet off the bed!"

"Easy. Set the furnace to high, feed the hens, set a tarp over the perch so the snow doesn't come in, and then sleep."

"Okay, then how about when the rooster crows in your ear. How did you handle that?"

"What can I say?" He shrugged, "I'm a heavy sleeper."

Mogens took a swig to hide the smirk creeping on his face. Jesper gaped at him, his mouth gulping like a fish, right as an errant feather flew onto his tongue. "Ugh. Ew. Bird feather. Ech." He sat up and dragged his teeth against his tongue. "Gross."

"Okay, if we're asking questions, then my turn. How the hell did I end up in your bed?"

Jesper glanced up at him.

"You don't remember?"

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p'.

"Well, first you pounded down the door after I had gone to bed." The mailman gave him a pointed glare, "Then by the time I came down you were greeting all the chickens by name."

Sounded like him. "Go on."

"I asked why you were here, but your words were slurring. I heard 'I got here first,' and 'dibs,' and everything else was gibberish."

Mogens nodded.

"Well, it was hard trying to make you leave. You asked for me to dance with you at one point, then you mentioned you played a mean sousaphone." He scratched his chin in thought. "Then it was around three in the morning and you climbed to the second floor while singing — something about a guy named Johnny? — And I was afraid you'd fall and die if I pushed you down the ladder, so — "

"So that's it? I came in whining during the night and you plopped me up in your bed? You know you could've left me on the floor."

"You were drunk. I was tired. Bernard was crowing nonstop." He waved his hand as if to swipe to the next topic, but then his arm slowed. "You said," he paused, his eyes squinting as if trying to recall a vague memory.

Mogens waited.

"Before you fell asleep, you said the reason you didn't repair the holes in the roof is because you liked looking at the stars at night. When they shone, it — "

"Jesper!"

The chickens scurried away as a young girl leaped into Jesper's arms, her mouth firing away in Northern Sámi. Mogens had learned the basics of Sámi after trading around Sápmi but even that didn't prepare him for this. ["Hello, it's nice to see you again. How have you been? I've missed you."]

Jesper nodded along as if he could understand every word spoken and then said, ["I missed you too."] His dialect wasn't great — too slow and too rough — but her face lit up as if he'd burst wings from his back. She bounced on her feet. ["What are you doing?"]

He tried responding in Sámi, his mouth sounding out the consonants and vowels before he sighed and said, "We're making a coop for the chickens."

["Can I help?"] She reached out for one hen but a hand on her wrist stopped her.

"Careful!" He cautioned. His voice dropped low, "These are dangerous beasts. Look at my hands." Jesper brandished his hands like an actor would brandish a skull in a Shakespearean plays; solemn and dramatic-like. The gravitas of which vanished a second later as he wriggled his fingers to show off the bandages. "They'll bite yours too if you're not careful." A beat of silence passed before they burst into giggles.

Mogens turned away.

Jesper had changed since he first stepped onto Smeerensburg. He could remember the man's second day on the island; trying to trick a kid into mailing his own drawing back to him. And look at him now, picking up this kid and swinging her around no problem. He had transformed in his time here and had become the catalyst to everyone else's transformation: the kids, the adults, the woodsman, Alva. Standing near him, it almost felt like _he_ could —

But Mogens had stopped betting against the odds a long time ago.

.

"Here," Jesper said as he handed him a bag of eggs cushioned by coop bedding. "They started laying eggs, and as thanks for helping with them," he gestured to the bag.

Mogens took it. "Eggs. You're going to pay me in eggs? No money?"

A flush crawled itself along the postman's neck. "Sorry," he said as he dug in his pockets. "I'll — "

Mogens grinned; wide and unabashed. "The eggs are fine, but next time I'm not going to let up so easy."

Jesper rolled his eyes. "There's not going to be a next time, but okay."

.

"Klaus, this is Mogens, the devil incarnate. Don't trust a word he says. Mogens, this is Klaus. If you do anything to hurt him, I'll rip your heart out."

Klaus' smile didn't disappear but the genial air surrounding him turned into one of polite confusion.

"We've met." Mogens stated.

"Yeah, Klaus and I took a boat to Márgu's place — "

"No, before that."

"We have?" Klaus asked with a frown.

"You have?" Jesper asked, his eyes darting between them.

"Oh, it was about three or four years ago now. It was late at night. I had just ferried in the newest postman of the month and happened to be touring them around when we saw a mysterious figure stalking the closed marketplace. I called out but the giant shadow said nothing. Trembling, I lifted my lantern — and who else do I see but the mysterious mister woodsman stealing from a market stall?"

"You didn't." Jesper gasped.

"He's lying," Alva stated. Her eyes moved from Klaus — whose shoulders bunched up to his reddened ears — to Mogens. "You're lying." She accused.

"Wish I was. I called out to him to stop, but he vanished into the night. The postman kept whimpering and asking if this was normal. I told him the truth and said I've been in this town for years and I've never seen that figure before in my life. Next day, Postman quit and I never did see that figure again. Well," he smirked, "until a few months ago."

"I left money," Klaus argued. It wasn't a good argument.

"I am _ashamed_ of you. After all this talk about selfless acts and kindness unto others, and you're the biggest thief of them all. I can't believe I've been following a hypocrite this whole time."

"I didn't want to wake anyone and I needed-"

"You know," Alva cut him off with a spark in her eye. "I think this means you're on the naughty list, Klaus."

"Please, I didn't mean to scare — "

"You're right," Jesper clucked his tongue. The same glint in Alva's eyes now in his. "No toys for you, Klaus."

"It was near midnight — "

"We'll have to restock the coal supply."

The three bickered back and forth, with Alva and Jesper teaming up on Klaus as if it were procedure. Instead of jumping in, Mogens busied himself with taking in the workshop. Dozens of children's drawings hung from strings wrapped around the second floor railings, handmade toys lined the shelves; no two toys alike, a fresh coat of paint made the otherwise dull workshop pop. If he were younger, he would've called this the most magical place on earth.

He wasn't younger.

Why was he here?

"Then why didn't you go during the daytime?" Jesper reasoned.

In the ensuing silence, Mogens spoke, "Not that I don't enjoy the irony of this whole thing, but any reason you called me here? I've got work too, you know."

"I'm sure you do," Alva said, her voice soaked with sarcasm.

It was Klaus who answered. "Christmas is coming up again — " _It was July,_ " — and we'd like for you to ferry us again."

"To Sápmi?"

"What was that that came out of your mouth?"

Mogens rolled his eyes, "To where the Sámi live?"

"Yes," Klaus stated, "and also we've been thinking of expanding. Not this year, but next year, we're planning on delivering toys mainland. It'll take a few rounds — "

"You're joking, right? You want to deliver toys to all the houses in the mainland — "

"Not all in one go. Most of them — "

" — in a single night?"

"If you won't do it — "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he held up a hand to stop Alva in her tracks. "I didn't say I wouldn't do it. I'll do it, but I'll need payment."

"Will the usual fare do?" Klaus asked, hands already delving into his pockets.

"Nuh-uh, I don't want money. I want something else."

"Eggs?" Jesper asked.

"No, not _eggs_. Something else."

They waited. And waited. And waited. The spark in their eyes dimmed, but it only fueled his own.

"Well," Alva asked, "Are you going to tell us what it is or not?"

"I don't know yet."

Klaus' brows drew downward. "You don't know?" He intoned.

"I don't know _yet_ ," Mogens corrected.

"So what?" Jesper spread out his arms, "We're supposed to wait around until you decide what you want from us?"

"Yup. Take it or leave it. And remember," He tipped his hat at them and their shocked, incredulous faces, "I'm the only one on the island with a big enough boat to carry all your presents."

Alva and Jesper groaned while Klaus blinked on in confusion.

Oh, this will be fun.

.

"A horse."

"Nah."

"Two horses?"

"I don't even want the first horse, why would I want two?"

"A carriage."

"Those need horses which, we've established, I do not want."

Jesper tapped his finger against his chin as he thought. His eyes roamed, from Mogens' hat to his shoes, from the horse in front of them to the bags of mail in their laps to the docks coming into view, before zeroing on the flask on his hip. He snapped his fingers.

"Liquor! How about it? I can get some casks set up. Whatever you want; money's not an issue."

Mogen's mouth fell open. Barrels? Expensive barrels? How long had it been since he'd had expensive whiskey? How long had he gone without tasting that fine burn of high-end rum? He remembered once back in his deckhand days, sneaking into the Captain's cabin and pilfering a fancy French bottle. He swore he'd only take a sip before returning it. That night he'd drained the bottle dry and his back still stung from the punishment he'd received, but even now he still craved to taste that fine wine again. It'd be an easy offer to accept.

Too easy.

"You'll have to try harder than that."

Jesper pouted. "A new boat?" He asked.

"Nope."

"The chickens?"

He paused long enough for a hopeful glint to enter Jesper's eyes before shaking his head. "Nah."

The postman threw his hands in the air, letting go of the reigns, before he realized his mistake and hurried to pick them back up, "You're impossible," he stated.

Mogens chuckled. If they didn't find anything then the casks could be a good fallback, but he hoped they found… whatever it was that he wanted.

Which begged the question…

What did he want?

.

He whistled as he prepared the eggs, lifting the pan off the gimbaled stove to flip them. He'd use a spatula, but he'd lost his a while ago. He opened the cupboards as they sizzled. No salt or pepper, but there was thyme. He plated the eggs once they finished and exited the galley.

Cool air brushed against his skin as he reached the deck. He breathed in and settled there, on the ship's floor. He didn't have forks — lost those too — but he'd never been picky concerning utensils. He leaned back and lifted his head to the sky while he waited for his eggs to cool. The Northern Lights should appear soon. He'd seen it a thousand times before, sailing these waters, but he knew the moment they retook the midnight sky his breath would catch as if it were the first time.

But for now, he was content with only the stars to watch as he ate, because when the stars shone, he felt a little less alone.

.

"What are you doing here?"

He hadn't visited the school since _before_. With Alva no longer selling fish, he hadn't had reason to. She had painted the place, and like the workshop, kids' drawings hung from string where fish once dangled with dead eyes and gaping gills. Mogens' gait faltered as he took it in, but he compensated with a widespread of his arms.

"What? Can't the local ferryman visit his favorite Smeerensburg citizen without an interrogation?"

"What did you do this time?"

Mogens brought his hands to his breast and batted his eyelashes. "Who? Little old me?"

The irritation that adorned her face was so familiar it created a soreness in his chest. He'd missed her, he realized. Not this her — with her clean blouse and long skirt and put-together hair — but the other her. The one who wasn't afraid to throw a knife at you if you lingered too long across the counter, and would share a drink with him at the end of a long day just so she could vent.

"If the only reason you're visiting is to annoy me, then the door is — "

"I'm sorry," the words tumble out of his mouth, "for tricking you into ringing the Battle Bell."

"Oh." She said. She looked lost as to what to do with the apology which mirrored his mounting confusion at ever having given one. "Well, you're six years too late for an apology but I forgive you — "

And because he can't leave it well enough alone: "And I'm sorry about the time I tied your shoelaces together, and the time I stole your purse, and the time I convinced you that wearing fish during New Years was a Smeerensburg tradition — "

"Out!" She shouted, before shoving him to the exit. He dragged his feet against the floor but Alva was persistent and strong. The door slammed behind him with a solid THUNK.

"And I'm sorry about the lederhosen incident!" He yelled. He took the path downhill to the main thoroughfare and waited. And waited. It wasn't until a cheerful hag passed him by — the same hag that used to throw fish guts on her neighbor's laundry — that he realized he had no idea what he was waiting for.

People strolled by heading somewhere. The world turned. The wind blew.

And Mogens waited.

.

"I want to help with Christmas."

Alva lowered her coffee cup. Jesper, beside her, choked on his open sandwich.

"I help during Christmas this year and next year you'll have your rides for free."

"And what do you mean by," Alva's eyes narrowed to a squint, " _'help_?'"

"You know, making the toys and breaking into people's houses. I want to experience the magic firsthand."

"We do not — "

"Yes, you do."

Jesper's mouth flapped like a sail in the wind. "I — You — " His throat made a sound like sharp rocks tearing into a ship's hull, and Mogens had to fight back a grin.

"Well, if you guys don't need my help, then — " He shrugged and walked away. One step. Two steps. Three steps.

"We'll do it!" Jesper shouted. "We'll — you can — We accept your offer!"

Hook, line, and sinker.

.

"Are you actually going to help?" Alva huffed as she dumped a box on the table. She pushed her loose hair behind her ear and glared.

"I am helping!" He leaned over Jesper's shoulder, "To the right! A little — too far. Go back left!"

"Not helping!" Jesper cried as he tried to center the small carousel onto the platform. He stuck out his tongue and lowered his hand. Lower. Lower. Lower.

BAM. The carousel fell to the platform on its side, glue smudging against a horse's legs. Mogens lifted his stinging palm from the table while Jesper groaned in despair.

" _Help_ ," Alva ordered. Her voice held a murderous undertone and She pushed over the box of unfinished toys in need of paint. " _Now_."

.

"They're… good?"

"They're not," Alva stated.

Klaus' eyes widened and his eyes zoomed in on Mogen's face, but the ferryman only steepled his fingers behind his head and leaned back. She was right. They were shit.

"Sorry. Ain't much of a painter."

"Can you whittle?" Klaus asked.

He'd once been bunkmates with a whittler who offered him a knife and wood in the dull days between port. He'd tried it once and ended up under the needle for it. The scar still ran across his palm and across the butt of his thumb. "Nope," he answered.

"He can always carry things."

"Wouldn't count on it. I got a bad back."

Jesper entered the conversation, holding braided wires in one hand and gears in the other. "How are you at assembly?"

"Not too shabby, so long as you have instructions I can follow."

Klaus nodded. "We can work with that."

.

When he offered his services to the motley crew of Klaus' workshop, not in a million years did he foresee himself becoming a mediator between Alva and Jesper. They came to him weekly to settle their disputes; the ones that were important enough for them to spend hours bickering over, but not serious enough to bring to Klaus' attention.

"Which one looks better?" Alva placed two swatches on the table: one a bright cerulean blue and the other a darker navy blue.

"Does it matter?" Mogens asked.

"Does it — " Jesper sputtered. "Yes, it matters! Which one is better?"

"Depends."

"Depends?"

"Yeah, what's it for? I mean, if you're planning on making a globe and want to know what's a better color for the ocean, I'd say the lighter blue. If you're going for a portrait of the night sky, then I'd answer the darker one. So what are you making?"

Alva and Jesper glanced at each other. A silent conversation passed between the minute twitches of their pupils.

"Just tell us which one is your favorite," Alva said at last.

"Neither."

They both groaned.

"Okay, but you have to admit the darker blue looks better," Jesper said. He picked up the swatch and compared it to his uniform. "See? It works on me, it should work on everything."

"It does look good on you," Mogens agreed.

Alva picked up the cerulean swatch, "It's too dark. That shade of blue only works when there's light out but this will look good even at night."

"She's right, you know. That type of blue does pop out at night."

"Yeah, but does it really matter what it looks like at night? It's dark! Everything looks dark at night!."

"Of course it does! I can't believe you —"

"What do you mean, 'I can't believe' —"

Mogens sat back and enjoyed the show.

.

They had jobs. Alva with her school, Jesper with his mail, and Mogens — as much as he doubted a sudden influx of visitors to Smeerensburg — had his job; which was to sit at his post on the mainland half a week. Klaus, though, had no job. He cut wood and sometimes ventured to the village to sell it, but he had no daily work schedule like they did. Despite that, he left them to their devices a lot — which was a surprise considering this was his workshop. His house. His project.

Not that Mogens was complaining. He hadn't quite found his footing around the woodsman. The man was genuine in a way Alva and Jesper weren't. He had his faults — stealing from a store in the middle of the night being a prime example — but he was... untouchable — in the sense that Alva glared at him to play nice over the older man's shoulder.

"Where's the boss?"

"Who?" Jesper asked.

"Klaus. You know, the guy who owns this workshop we're working in."

"Yes, him. He's — "

"Out," Alva stated. She nudged Jesper with her elbow. "He's out."

"Yes, out doing things — "

"Yes," she gnawed her teeth together, "things."

Mogens raised a brow but didn't say a thing. If they didn't want to tell him where Klaus was, then it wasn't any of his business.

"So, what are we doing today? I assume we're not making any new toys without the toy maker."

A silence filled the room. Alva and Jesper searched around, but the workshop was tidy, the toys completed, and all the equipment stood in tip-top shape. Without Klaus to make new toy bases, there was nothing to do.

"I guess," Jesper started, "we can try to make our own toys?"

"That sounds like a terrible idea," Alva deadpanned.

"Oh, it sounds worse than that; more like a disaster in the making." Mogens could taste it in the air; the chaos waiting in the wings. He shivered in anticipation, mirth curling his lips. "Let's do it."

.

Klaus had blueprints set on his workbench. Carousels, tiny marching bands, duck boats, rocking horses, music boxes; every toy blueprint laid out for perusal. It was the wind-up frogs that caught Jesper's attention.

"This should be easy to make," he said. "Why don't we make these and compare; find out whose is the best?"

"A competition?" Alva asked. "Also, you're underestimating the time and effort it takes to create one of these things. This could take hours to make."

"There's nothing else to do. Might as well, right? Everything else takes too many parts we need to save for the real toys. This only needs a few. It'll be simple."

"And how are we judging it?"

"That's easy. A race. First one to the finish line wins."

Alva and Mogens shared a look.

"I'm in," he said.

She sighed at their expectant expressions. "Fine, but I have to teach tomorrow. The minute the sun hits the horizon, I'm out of here."

.

"I win!" Mogens howled as his frog pushed off the head of Alva's frog and over the finish line.

"That's cheating!" She yelled. "Your frog didn't stay in your lane."

"That wasn't in the rules. I win. I'm victorious. Done."

Jesper scooped up his frog, which, although painted a vibrant verdant green, took three leaps towards the finish before its misshapen legs had it flipping onto its back. "You didn't even paint yours."

"I'm sorry, was that stated as a requirement? No, it was not. I win."

"I want a rematch," Alva placed her frog back onto the starting line, "this time we'll separate them more; see who wins then."

"Sorry, Jerrik isn't taking rematches."

"Oh yeah? Well, Miaken demands blood. Put the frog on the line, Mogens."

Mogens arched a brow. "Or _what_ , Miss Alva?"

She marched over and leaned in, every facsimile of goodness extinguished from her flinty eyes. "Don't test me, _boatman_."

"Guys, guys," Jesper wormed his way between them. "A race might've not been the best idea. We should get an unbiased judge to settle this."

They both tilted their heads. It was nearing sundown and Klaus still hadn't returned.

"Who did you have in mind?"

.

"I'm winning," Mogens declared.

"That's because you're bribing the judges."

"Lies and slander."

Alva guided the reindeer's snouts away from Mogens and opened his coat. There, in his inner pocket, sat a bag full of reindeer feed. She snatched it and emptied its contents to the floor. The reindeer flocked around it with vigor.

"This is useless." She muttered.

"C'mon," Jesper wheedled. He had one reindeer cornered and was trying in vain to get it to sniff at it or… whatever constituted as a win in this game they were playing. He wound his frog up. "Look at this. You like frogs, right?"

The reindeer turned its snout towards its brethren. Jesper snapped his fingers. "No! I fed you an hour ago. Pay attention."

He set the frog on the floor and it started hopping. Once. Twice. The reindeer bent its head low, its dark brown eyes following as it hopped. Everyone held their breath in anticipation. Was Jesper going to win? Then the frog hopped once more, leaped over the reindeer's head, and — with everyone watching — slammed straight into its right antler, knocking it clean off.

The scream that pierced the air had the birds flying for quieter places and all the reindeer raising their heads. Jesper's hands trembled over his mouth. "I — I didn't mean to — Is this normal? Did I hurt him? It fell off!"

"Oh, now you've done it." Mogens sighed and clucked his tongue. "Poor thing won't even make it to winter."

If Mogens weren't a veteran troublemaker, the wide-eyed look of utter horror on Jesper's face would've broken him.

"What do you mean, 'won't make it to winter'?"

"Like it sounds. You see, reindeer need their antlers to survive and attack predators but without them they're defenseless."

"But — but, these ones are domesticated. There are no predators, so it should be fine, right?"

The reindeer in question stepped over its fallen antler and the frog trapped beneath it and began prancing. Like the frog, it began to hop around, shaking its head as it did.

"Why's it jumping around like that? What's going on? Is it having a seizure?"

"Its balance is out of sorts without its antler. It's trying to regain equilibrium by jumping, but…" Mogens let out a soft hiss, as if hesitant to divulge further.

"But? What but? But what?"

"Well, either it accepts its new lopsided balance and returns to normal, or," he drawled, "it rams itself on trees struggling to tear its other antler off and even the scale. A very dangerous thing to do for a reindeer — might cause skull damage or worse — but if it does manage to lose both antlers, then it'll die in a few days."

"Die?" Jesper squeaked. He picked up the fallen antler with panicked hands. "It can't — I don't want it — Can we glue it back on there? Trick the reindeer into thinking it still has two antlers?"

Mogens hummed, rubbing his chin as if he were thinking it over. "That might work. Yeah, if it can't tell the weight difference, then it might not try to ram its head in and kill itself."

"Right. Glue. Get glue." The postman staggered to his feet and indoors, the antler cradled to his chest as if it were a baby. "Get glue. Fix reindeer." He disappeared through the doorway chanting, "Get glue. Fix reindeer."

Mogens caught Alva's eyes. She was shaking her head, arms crossed, but there was the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"You're not going to tell him?" He asked.

Her arms crossed tighter but she didn't say a word. He interpreted it as a yes.

" — Okay, I got the glue. We can fix this. Someone needs to hold — "

The reindeer bounded by, head rocking, and in a moment of pure happenstance, the reindeer's remaining antler caught itself in the bucket's handle. It bounded away, bucket of glue swinging from its head, and as they watched; three gallops later the bucket's weight proved too much and the last antler popped free, landing on the ground with a meaty thunk as the glue fell with it.

The gasp that let out of Jesper's throat was indescribable, but if Mogens were to describe it, he'd say it was like a sneeze transformed into a ghastly groan before ending in a whistle of a steam engine. Jesper shambled to the other antler and picked it up with trembling hands before falling to his knees.

"What's going on here?" One very confused Mr. Klaus said as he returned from wherever he'd gone. He approached Jesper who had curled up in a fetal position over the broken piece of bone and marrow.

"Klaus," Jesper gasped. "I'm sorry, I — " He bowed his head and lifted the broken off reindeer antlers as if he were offering a sacrifice. "They fell off and now the reindeer will die and it's all my fault but I didn't mean to — "

Klaus surveyed the sight before him and then stared at them in askance. Mogens shrugged his shoulders, arms splayed out. Alva shook her head. "Jesper," Klaus said, "reindeer shed their antlers annually. This is normal. The males shed theirs in the winter, females in the summer." He placed one giant hand on Jesper's shoulder. "It's fine. The reindeer aren't dying."

"They — They shed — Female — ?"

Mogens couldn't help it. He burst out laughing and even Alva next to him couldn't resist giggling. The newly-shed reindeer returned to its flock, eating feed with the others; unharmed.

"You're — You're _mean_." Jesper blubbered, shoulders slumped. "You're mean and you're not nice and I hate you and — and you!" He twisted around to face Alva, his knees still planted on the ground. "You didn't say a word! I bet you knew and didn't tell me!"

"I'm sorry. Really, I am — " She vowed over her giggles, "but you make it too easy."

"Heh, you hear that? You're easy ~"

"Mean and evil, both of you!"

.

.

The Sámi came to the workshop during the fall. There was no announcement of their arrival beside a shrieking call of, "Jesper!" and the pattering of feet.

"Oof. You've gotten bigger, haven't you? Let me look at you."

"[You're getting smaller. One day, I'll be taller than you!"]

"What was that? I couldn't catch it."

"She said she'll become taller than you one day. Heh, good luck kid."

Several pairs of eyes landed on him.

"What?"

"You speak Sámi?" Klaus asked.

"Forget about Sámi," Jesper said, "I'm surprised you can speak more than one language at all."

"For your information, I speak three different languages and can read and write in two."

 _"You can read?_ "

.

Translating for the Sámi was fun in the sense that he could say whatever he wanted, and while everyone _suspected_ his translations were bullshit; unless the more well-versed bilinguals were in the room, he could get away scot-free.

"Are you sure Duttá wanted this here?" Jesper asked as he pushed the wood carving bench station to the other side of the workshop.

"Yup, he said right there. He has a project that needs a lot of room. A little more to the left."

["You are a terrible man. Funny,"] Selgga admitted as she bustled by, ["but terrible."]

["You won't tell him I'm lying?"] Mogens asked. Selgga had a thick accent and a loose grasp on metaphors but otherwise fell under the category of well-versed bilingual.

She paused in gathering the spare cloths lying around, and watched as Jesper struggled to lift the bench. ["I would… but it _is_ hilarious."]

Mogens had to bite his lip to repress the laughter threatening to bubble out of his mouth.

.

Mogens placed his last toy to the side. Assembling the toys had come easy to him, like hoisting the sails or tying a bowline; thoughtless, and a lot less strenuous. He stretched his arms and groaned. His back popped. Ugh. What next? He searched the workshop for Klaus but found no sight of the man. The workshop was half-empty. Had it gotten that late?

He approached Selgga who had begun stitching together a stuffed toy reindeer. ["Selgga, do you know where Klaus is?"]

["Up the stairs."] She said.

He ventured upstairs and found them; Alva, Jesper, and Klaus off in a corner room that served as Klaus' personal office. The door to the office stood open and he could see them, and a few of the more design-oriented volunteers, pouring over something on the desk. Curious, he headed towards them.

" — but there's no way it's going to fit."

"I told you we should assemble it there!"

"Yeah, but it'll take too many trips — "

Before he could even think to open his mouth, Duttá appeared as if from thin air, blocking the doorway.

["What's going on?"]

["It's nothing. They will finish soon."]

Mogens tried peering over his shoulder, but Duttá had wide shoulders and lithe feet that mirrored him.

["Why won't you let me see?"]

["It's nothing,"] Duttá repeated.

The chatter in the office vanished as Klaus appeared over Duttá's shoulder. "Is something the matter here?" He asked.

Klaus would give him a straight answer. "What are you guys working on?"

Blue eyes flitted away before meeting his again. "Improvements on the sleigh." And if it were anyone else, Mogens wouldn't have cared. If it were anyone else, it wouldn't have mattered. But it was Klaus. Genuine Klaus who was lying.

Lying to him.

Mogens shrugged and smiled. "Whatever you say, boss." He turned on his heel and descended the stairs, passed Selgga's concerned gaze, passed his work station — and it wasn't until he was alone in the dusty storage room that he let the smile fall. He dug into his coat and pulled out his flask.

.

He had passed it a million times since coming here. Couldn't miss it if he tried. It sat in the corner, a wooden monolith full of people he knew. There was Alva and Jesper settled high to the left, Márgu and her parents top center; Duttá and Selgga stood on the slide wrapped around the tree, and — although the sculpture's hair was brown and he'd never seen him with a short vest — he knew it was Klaus on the top. Next to Klaus stood the only figure he didn't know — pink bottom, blue top, brown hair — but he didn't need a chart to put the puzzle pieces together.

There was no wooden figure painted in dark blues on the tree. No circular middle. No sailor's cap.

The tree had no room for it.

.

When it came time to return to the mainland, Mogens instead took a detour. He sailed north and waited. And waited. And waited. He checked over the boat while time ticked on; he tied the ropes off, the anchor set, bits of the boiler had rusted over — he'd need to replace a few parts but he'd save that for later. He had a few eggs left, though he'd run out of thyme. The alcohol he'd hidden —

.

By the time the Northern Lights took the sky, Mogens was lying on top of the deck, three empty bottles next to his head. The colors blurred in front of him; green and yellow and pink and purple. He reached his hand out to them.

"Take me with you," he said, and the edges of his hands glowed; green and yellow and pink and purple. "Take me away from here."

No response.

He lowered his arm and reached for another bottle of whiskey. Nothing. He patted around the deck, jostling empty bottles that rolled away, but his search was in vain. He'd run out. His head landed back on the hard deck floor and he scowled. Should've taken the free casks while he had the chance.

.

"Oops," Mogens snickered as a dozen different spare parts cascaded onto the floor. He resumed his position leaning on the table, bottle in hand.

Alva sighed as she knelt to gather the pieces. She glared at him. He raised a brow.

"Aren't you going to help pick up the mess you made?" She asked.

He hummed, pretending to contemplate it. "Nah." He waved his arm to signify the utter uselessness of picking up trash but stopped once he noticed the liquid spilling over the rim. Can't waste good liquor, can we? He took another swig.

"Okay, what has been going on with you?" She stood, her pointer finger held out like the knife she used to wield, directed at him. "You leave for the week — "

"I've got a day job too if you've forgotten — "

" — come in stinking to high heaven — "

"Hey, the reindeer stink too, but I don't see you yelling at them — "

" — _been drinking nonstop_."

His hands clenched around the bottle. He didn't know why she was so pissed off. So he knocked over a bunch of junk on the ground; so what? It wasn't the worst thing he'd ever done; not to her or in general. He used to torment postmen to keep the post office empty so he didn't have to go through the fuss of searching for housing. He once convinced her that the best way to solve the Krum/Ellingboe dilemma was to ring the 'friendship' bell. He instigated more fights than he could imagine on this island for nothing more than want of entertainment. _This_? Him knocking over a box? This was a joke. This was nothing.

~~Then why did he feel so bad?~~

"Oooh~" Mogens singed with a lazy grin, "someone's having their time of the month."

The slap that echoed through the workshop stilled production. Anyone not watching prior was all eyes as Alva fumed over him, hand outstretched.

"You should leave," Jesper stated as he stepped between them. His voice was low and firm; a far departure from the usual goofy postman. Everyone stared at him. At the mark growing red on his cheek.

He left without a word.

.

Mogens didn't get very far. He sat himself against a tree bark, uncaring of the frosty snow seeping through his pants because he had his bottle to warm him. He nipped from the bottle. Above him, birdhouses swayed in the wind. He'd passed this little clearing so many times on his way to Klaus' house but never gave it any thought. The man liked birdhouses. It was as simple as that. But like this — with so many dangling so high above him; it was like looking at the stars.

He reached out, and the birdhouses bumped against each other. The sound of them colliding rang hollow in his ears.

Empty.

He lowered his hand. Footsteps crunched in the snow behind him. He said nothing as he watched Klaus approach from the bottle's reflection. They sat there in the clearing while birds tweeted overhead, and for a moment he entertained the thought here to intimidate him. A silent but firm, ' _Get out._ '

"Can I have a sip?"

Mogens blinked at Klaus' reflection. "What?"

One giant mitten'd hand gestured to the bottle. The ferryman handed it over. He hadn't ever seen Klaus drink before, but he didn't doubt a man as big as him couldn't pack down his liquor. He watched as the woodsman took a steadying breath before raising the bottle to his lips.

"Ugh! This is disgusting. What is it?"

Mogens laughed as he accepted the bottle back, his fingers curling around the neck. "Moonshine."

Klaus made another face but kept quiet. Mogens resumed staring at the wooden stars, and though his eyes didn't stray, he could tell the woodsman was staring up at them too.

"You know, I spent a long time in mourning. Longer than I should have, if I'm being honest."

Mogens waited.

"You're probably wondering why I'm saying this — and excuse me if this is forward — but I wonder if you're mourning too."

His throat burned as he spoke. Consequences of moonshine, he supposed. "Mourning what?"

"I don't know." Quieter, the toymaker said, "I don't think even you know."

"And what does that mean?"

The silence lingered. At last, Klaus asked. "Why are you here?"

Mogens tried to hide his wince with a turn of his head.

"No, I mean, why did you decide that this would be your form of payment? Why not money?

"I thought it would be funny to — " he slumped further against the tree, " — I don't know. Mess with things. Cause some chaos. It was last-minute — "

"You know what I think?" Klaus asked. His voice was tentative but firm. An oxymoron Mogens was too drunk to figure out, "I think the reason you volunteered is because you wanted to change. You wish to change — and maybe it isn't changing fast enough for you or you feel you aren't changing enough — but the fact that you want it; that you took the steps you thought necessary by helping; that's something. It might not seem like much, but it is _something_."

Klaus knelt in front of him as he spoke, his blue eyes so intense in their sincerity that he swore it caused an arrhythmia in his heart. His head lolled forward until it caught itself on the other man's chest and he stayed there because he didn't have the strength to straighten. Too drunk. Something tugged at the bottle. He clenched his hand tighter around it.

"Let it go, Mogens," Klaus rumbled into his ear. "Let it go and we can return and you can apologize."

He started laughing because this was ridiculous; him: leaning on the thieving self-exiled woodsman's chest as if he wasn't a grown man who could stand on his own, him: sitting a couple yards away from a workshop where they made toys for kids that they only delivered on one night of the year via breaking and entering, him: letting people in and caring about them and —

and —

He let the bottle go.

.

The apology he gave sounded stilted and unrehearsed even to his own ears, and the whole he time he struggled to meet anyone's eyes. A part of him urged him to flee and hide, but the hand on his shoulder ensured he stayed still. He apologized for drinking, for knocking things over, for saying things he shouldn't have, and when he finished the silence was deafening. No one moved. No one breathed.

Until Alva sauntered up, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in a smoldering glare.

"I'm sorry, Alva. I — "

Then she hugged him. "I forgive you," She said.

"Whoa, okay. This is — "

She pinched the back of his neck. "You talk about my time of the month again and I'll gut you myself, you got me boatman?"

"Ah, all right. Message received!"

At once, life returned to the workshop. Alva let him go and returned to her station. People patted him as he passed by. Jesper gave him a small smile. He returned to his station to find Selgga there, waiting.

["Do you feel better now?"] She asked.

["Yes,"] he said, because he realized he did feel better. His head ached and he needed a glass of water yesterday, but he was… lighter. He gave her a rueful smile, ["but does a terrible man deserve to feel better?"]

She clucked her tongue and cupped his face. ["Oh, friend. Even terrible people can not be so terrible, if they only try."] She then pinched his cheek like he was five years old and went on her way.

Mogens returned to his workbench with a smile.

.

He hadn't kept track of it. He never did. It had become second nature to sing to himself while working on the boat and it had transferred to toy work. It wasn't until the whole workshop was following the highs and lows of the sea shanty that he realized he was singing aloud.

He paused, but the song continued on, their voices a rough dissonance that wasn't absolute English or Sámi or even spoken word. Song echoed back to him: voiceless and ethereal and so wonderful it could bring even a mountain to tears.

He'd forgotten how much he missed hearing someone singing back.

.

Christmas Eve came quicker than he'd expected. They had a party three days beforehand where they sang and danced and drank — well, sort of drank. His was watered down to piss but he was trying — and the next morning they waved the Sámi goodbye. A few of them insisted on staying to help but Klaus waved them off. ["You've helped greatly."] The woodsman said with shocking fluency. ["But we can take it from here."]

Personally, Mogens wouldn't have minded some extra help, but what the boss says, goes.

.

"So what? We're not breaking and entering?"

"It's not breaking and entering!" Jesper cried as he harnessed the reindeer.

"We thank you for the assistance, but Jesper and I can handle this part."

Mogen's did his best imitation of a pout, "Oh, but this was going to be the best part. It's the whole reason I volunteered!"

"The sleigh's overstuffed as it is. There's no room for two more!"

"All right then, Jesper get out. I'll take your place."

 _"Excuse me_?"

"I hate to say this," Alva started, "but I agree with Mogens. I was hoping I could join in delivering this year."

Klaus heaved a sigh, but his cheeks bulged in that way that meant he was smiling underneath the beard, "Enough. Mogens, we need the boat ready to sail by midnight. Alva… maybe next year."

"You can always trail behind us in your own carriage."

Alva cupped her chin in thought. "Hmm. I'll pass."

"Guess we'll be off then."

They waved as the sleigh took off.  
"Good luck!" Alva called.

.

"You know, if you're getting sleepy, you can return to the schoolhouse. No need to keep me company."

Alva only blinked at him, her drowsy eyes dropping with the effort. "Shouldn't they be here by now?"

Mogens adjusted his boat's lights. The fog was especially thick tonight. "What? You think something happened? Jesper's coattails got the hot coal treatment again?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't bet against it."

Footsteps pounded across the boardwalk. Jesper appeared, his harsh pants appearing white hot in the air, "We have a problem."

.

When they arrived at the sleigh, it was obvious 'problem' was an understatement. The sleigh laid runners up, the presents scattered in the snow in a 20 foot radius. The reindeer were well and accounted for with nary a scratch but the clock was ticking.

"What happened?"

"We were riding too fast and an elk blocked the road and we slid down an icy slope and then the sleigh slid faster than the reindeer and the gifts spilled over and — "

"And we're screwed." Alva summarized. "There's no way we can get the sleigh back, collect the presents, and deliver them before sunrise."

"If we split the delivery between the four of us ..."

"Klaus, no offense but you are _not_ fitting down a chimney. And what about Márgu and the others? They need to get their presents too."

"I'm sure they'll understand if theirs are a day late — "

"I can do it."

Three pairs of eyes swerved to Mogens. "What?" Jesper asked.

"You guys deliver to everyone on Smeerensburg, I'll deliver the presents to Sápmi. I'm the one who owns the boat after all."

"That could work," Klaus said, "But it's far, without some kind of land transport, you'll be cutting it close."

"We could ask someone — " Alva started.

"At this time of night?"

"Klaus could always steal something— "

"I'm not stealing anything. It wasn't stealing, I left money — "

"I'll be fine," Mogens insisted over their bickering. "Trust me."

"I do," Klaus said, and that was that. They spent half an hour collecting presents from the snow and once Mogens was sure he had the ones he needed, he set off towards the docks.

.

"You know what I should've asked for payment? I should've asked for a carriage." Mogens muttered as he trekked through the tundra. His nose burned and so did the tips of his ears. He readjusted the sack he'd been carrying for who knows how long. There couldn't have been more than a dozen presents in there but with his bad back it was like carrying boulders.

By the time he arrived at the gathered tents, his hands were freezing and his back stung like hell, but someone was waiting for him at the finish line.

["I heard milk and cookies were part of the tradition,"] Selgga said. ["I didn't have enough time to get either of them, but if you'd like, I have cloudberries and Jåbmå. They're very delicious."]

Mogens smiled. ["I have no idea what that is but I'll take your word for it."]

The inside of her tent was lit with firelight and blanketed by reindeer fur. He sat and watched as smoke curled in the air and escaped from the hole on top; faint bit of starlight visible through the smoke. Two other people slept in the tent; their backs towards the firelight. He kept his voice low as to not disturb them.

["Thank you,"] he whispered as she handed him a stew.

.

Two hours later he was heading back to Smeerensburg. The trip was easy sailing, one he'd made a thousand times and that he could navigate in his sleep. He waited for the dangling glow of the whale skeleton to appear first; hanging from its balcony dressed head to toe in Christmas lights; his own personal beacon towards the docks. Instead, a singular beam of light pierced the fog from an entirely different direction, glowing brighter and brighter.

"What the — "

He squinted his eyes but his curiosity at wherever the light was coming from soon vanished as an ear-rendering screech, like metal tearing in half, erupted from behind him. Wide eyes turned around in time to see the boiler — he should've replaced it; how did he forget to replace it? — buckle and bend. Fast. He had gone too fast to get to Sápmi, trying to beat the sunrise and with the rust and the strain —

The last thought he had was: " _Thank heavens I went alone. Thank heavens I didn't drag down anyone else with me_ ," before the world exploded.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Someone was whistling. Thick fog swirled around him and someone whistled. It sounded familiar. He walked forward until there was nothing else. Voiceless and ethereal. Everywhere. He walked until a solitary figure emerged from the fog; their shape also familiar.

"Who are you?" He asked.

The whistling stopped. They — she — turned. Shoulder-length brown hair, brown eyes, a small button nose, and a curved chin.

"Oh, you're awake." She held out a slender hand. "Hi, my name is Lydia."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The fog hadn't lifted but Lydia didn't let it stop her, spinning this way and that, her skirt flaring up with each turn of the heel as she danced her way through the mist. Mogens followed behind her.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

Instead of answering his question, she twirled once more and said, "You know, a true selfless act always sparks another."

He scoffed. That sounded like something a parent would say to get their child to behave — or something Jesper would've said to con kids into writing more letters.

She paused for a moment and folded her arms. "You don't believe me?"

"If I'm being honest, it sounds like something a con artist would say.

Her smile fell to a frown and she reached over to tug at his ear. "What was that? I'm sorry Mr. ' _I'll volunteer my time to make toys for children_ ', repeat that to me again?"

Well, she had a point.

As if she'd heard his internal concession, she smiled and resumed her walk-dance forward, her legs sweeping low and her hands tucked near her abdomen; like a ballerina. Sometimes she'd hold her arms out — left hand raised high, right hand raised shoulder level — as if waiting for a partner to join her. Not him though. Someone else. She was, had been, and will always be waiting for someone else.

He was only there to pull along.

But pull him along where?

He stopped, even though something was telling him, _urging_ him to follow and not fall far behind. He spoke the question that had been building in his throat, the one he'd been dreading the answer to since the fiery hot air washed over his skin. "Am I dead?"

She stopped and tilted her head. "I guess that depends. Do you want to be?"

A year ago, he might've had a different answer. A year ago, he would've hesitated.

There was no hesitation now.

"No."

She smiled, small but delightful. "Then follow me."

"Follow you where?"

The fog lifted and a thousand brilliant shining stars twinkled down at him.

" _Home_."

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"Over here!"

"He's freezing. His skin is turning blue. What should we do?"

"We have to get him warmed up quick. Klaus, can you — "

Something grabbed him. He tried to lift his eyelids, but they were too heavy and the effort exhausted him.

Mogens fell unconscious to the wind whistling past his ear.

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Mogens groaned as someone lifted him by the neck. His skull pounded. He was… He was — Where was he? He struggled underneath a heavy pressure.

"Shh, everything will be alright." The voice placed his head on something soft and warm. Fuzzy.

Everything was fuzzy.

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"What's the verdict, doctor? Is he going to be okay?"

"His temperature is too low and the wounds he received — "

"But he'll be fine, right? He will wake up?"

"Hard to say. Has he awoken at all since the explosion?"

"No. Nothing."

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"I'm sorry, it's been too long. I have to return to my office. Patients are waiting for me —"

"You can't _leave_ — "

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Someone was singing. Soft and slow and mournful. Like a mumbling brook; a repeated melody that could never grow old. He wanted to sing back but couldn't muster the strength.

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Mogens opened his eyes to an empty room. Blankets piled over him, a solid weight on his body that both comforted and suffocated him. He flailed, trying to get the blankets off but lethargy slowed his reflexes and his muscles quaked under the strain.

It wasn't until Jesper filled his entire vision that he realized the room wasn't as empty as he thought.

"You're up!" The postman said. "You're awake. You're — you — you've been out for days."

Mogens smiled. His throat was dry and his tongue thick in his mouth but the words came easy. "Told you I was a heavy sleeper, didn't I?"

Jesper's lips wobbled. "He's up!" He yelled towards the door — and like that, the house erupted into a clatter of footsteps. Klaus appeared first, a steaming tray in hand.

"You need to eat," he said. Jesper helped Mogens into a sitting position and Klaus placed the tray on his lap. "You haven't eaten in days. You must be hungry."

He stared into the soup. Steaming air hit his face and his mouth salivated at the fragrant smell. "What happened?"

"We were hoping you'd be able to tell us," Alva said as she entered the room. She sat on the edge of the bed, her face pinched in concern. "Your boat blew up a few yards away from entering the bay. We found you soaked and almost dead on the docks. Do you remember what caused it?"

He took a slow sip of the stew. It didn't go down easy, and he predicted it would be awhile before he could eat solids again.

"How did Christmas go? Did you guys deliver all the presents?"

" _Mogens_."

He sighed. "I — " He bit his lip, "I forgot that I needed to replace some boiler parts. It had gotten rusted, and it buckled on me, and — I'm sorry. If the sled hadn't…" He took a deep breath. "If we traveled together — "

"It's okay," Klaus assured.

"I could've — " _killed us. Drowned us. Set our bodies adrift and alone at the bottom of the sea._

"Hey," A hand landed on his shoulder. He followed it up to Jesper's smiling face. "It doesn't matter. We're just glad you're not dead. I mean, how horrible would that have been? _Local ferryman dies on Christmas morning._ If you're going to blow up a boat, at least plan it better." The smile flickered, and all pretenses faded. Muted, Jesper said, "We're just glad you're alright."

"We all make mistakes," Alva said, "Some of us more than others. The boat's gone but you're alive. No one else got hurt. We even delivered all the presents. It's okay."

Mogens slumped over. Was it that easy? No one died, so it's okay? He closed his eyes and when he opened them, they were there. They were there.

For him.

"What day is it?" He croaked.

"Oh yeah!" Jesper perked up, "Happy New Years!"

"It's New Years already?"

"It's New Years in a couple hours," Alva said. "If you stay awake long enough, we can do a countdown together."

He squinted at her until she squirmed. "Is there something —"

"Why, Miss Alva, I hadn't realized it was New Years. Why aren't you wearing your fish dress? You know, it's a Smeerensburg tradition going back centuries — "

"You _ass_ ," she said and there was something wet in her eyes but she was smiling; so mission accomplished.

He tried to stay up, he did, but a third of the way through his soup his head started to droop and before he knew it his tray was removed, the spoon pried from his hand, and a hand eased him flat. And he was asleep.

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They took care of him in shifts. Klaus in the mornings, Jesper in the afternoons, and Alva in the evenings. Every now and again, Selgga came by for a surprise visit.

It was afternoon now, which meant it was Jesper's shift.

"Here you go," Jesper declared as he pressed the bowl into Mogen's hands. "Eat up!"

Mogens stared at the stew. He stared at Jesper. His fingertips caressed the cool porcelain bowl. "Think you forgot a step there, buddy."

"Nope. I did it right this time. I gutted the fish. Chopped the vegetables. Put it in water." He snapped his fingers and did a little finger gun movement. "I even stirred it as it cooked."

"Did you remember to start the stove?"

"Did I remember — " Jesper scoffed and chuckled. "I ... Did I —?" His shoulders slumped. "No, I forgot."

The postman grumbled as he took back the bowl. Mogens smiled as he leaned back. Jesper had the caretaking skills of a blind penguin, but he was trying.

"And remember, peel the potatoes this time!"

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"Hey… thanks."

Klaus paused as he picked up the dishes. He'd gotten back to eating light solids; it wasn't anything more than pieces of bread and mushed up berries, but it was a start.

"For taking care of me... and for what you said. The change thing. It… It really helped me."

"You know, my wife always used to tell me that a true selfless act always sparks another. If telling you that you are capable of change is my selfless act to you, then I'm glad to have made it.

Something clicked in his mind at his words. A sculpture of a woman standing next to Klaus. A skirt flaring up. Fog. A whistle.

His eyes fell shut before he could connect the pieces.

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"What's wrong? You look tired, or," she amended, "more tired than usual."

"I'm trying to figure out how screwed I am."

"Oh?" She put down the homework she'd been reviewing and placed her chin on the end of her fist. "Do tell."

"Well, I'm out of a job, aren't I? Can't be a ferryman without a ferry."

She hummed. "That's true. Can't buy another one?"

"Even if I do have enough money, which I might not, the money's back at my house. My house on the mainland. Which I can't get to without a boat."

"This is a whaling town. I'm sure someone can lend you a boat — "

"And then when I return the food will be expired —

"We can always send you over with food."

" — and then I'll have to write a report on the losses — "

"Now you're whining."

"Oh, Miss Alva, you always know what to say to a man suffering terrible losses."

Alva rolled her eyes and returned to her papers — and it was only until she was marking things with her pen that his smile fell. He had said everything with a tone of sarcasm, but there was a hint of truth to his bellyaching. He'd been dreading the reality of his job loss —

No. Not that. He'd been jobless plenty of times in his youth. The real problem — the thing that sent shivers down his spine — was thinking of his recovery. Once he got out of here, he'd have to return to the mainland and stay there until he could either appeal to the higher-ups or buy a new boat — and until then he'd be alone. In his house. The three-roomed house in the middle of nowhere with expired food, and the knee-high cot that he always had to bend his back to get into, and the brandy under the sink —

"Did you lose anything?"

"Hmm?" He snapped out of his inner turmoil to find her staring at him.

"In the explosion. On your boat. Did you lose anything?"

"Let's see, my stove, a ship's wheel, a glass divider, a few eggs, two benches, an anchor— "

"Anything important?" She stressed.

He fiddled with the quilt Selgga had given him. A multicolored blanket stitched by hand with designs that mirrored the curves of waves.

"Jerrik."

Her brows furrowed. "Jerrik… the frog?"

"Yeah, I set him up next to the wheel. Called him my second in command."

"I can give you Jesper's — "

" _Not a chance_."

.

Mogens was halfway to dreamland when his eyes slammed open. Since waking he'd been meaning to ask but distractions and a sluggish mind had him forgetting at every opportunity. Turning to Alva, he asked, "Where am I?"

She lifted a brow. "Where do you think you are?"

The room was a pale blue like the classroom's walls, but he wasn't in the school. It was too quiet for that. No way was he in the post office's bedroom either; the room too square; no rooster's perch over the bed. The walls were bare of any personal effects and, if it weren't for the bedside dresser and painted walls, he'd say no one had ever occupied it.

"Klaus' place?" He'd entered the man's house once or twice for a dinner meal, but besides the dining room and the living room, he had no idea what the rooms looked like. When the man came by, he'd ask if he could stay longer, until he could get a new boat.

"You're safe." She said. "That's all that matters."

She went back to her kids' homework. Klaus' house then. When the man came by, he'd ask if he could stay longer, until he could get a new boat at least.

Mogens twisted in the bed until he could spot the window high above him. He hadn't gotten the handle on walking for long periods yet, and even the thought of standing on his tiptoes to see outside sounded draining to him, but he could see the moon and the stars through the glass. Their lights lulled him to sleep.

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"I'm bored," he whined.

"Bored, bored, bored." She mocked in her thick accent. ["I am getting sick of you repeating that word. Which is why,"] she plopped a bag on the table and pulled out what looked like a wooden board underneath small wooden statues, ["I will teach you how to play Sáhkku."]

["I'm sorry, what?"]

.

"[So the little ones are soldiers. And the big one is the king."]

"[Yes."]

"[And the ones with hooks are…?"]

"[Those are the women soldiers."]

"[Do the men and women soldiers have different move types?"]

She grabbed the wooden dice stick sitting at the side of the board.

["Right. The dice determine the moves. You roll it and whatever number you get, your soldier moves that number of lines, and the…"]

She waited with a patient smile.

[... and players differentiate by which soldiers they choose: man or woman."] He said.

["Good. You've learned the rules."] She smiled and there was a wicked gleam in her eyes. ["Time to start then."]

.

["I give up."] He groaned. He'd tried recruiting the king but every time he had it, his rolls became worse to where he couldn't capture with it without sacrificing his women in return, and then Selgga would come right up and recruit the king to her side anyway. ["Got anything else we can play?"]

["You're not going to try harder?"]

[Selgga, we've been playing for an hour. I lose every time."]

[Quitter."]

["I get it. I'm a quitter. Have anything else to play?"]

["Well, if you insist,"] she rummaged through her bag and pulled out a good old reliable deck of cards. Mogens praised the heavens.

["Now we're talking. I'll warn you, Sámi game or not, I don't lose at cards."]

Her grin grew crooked as she shuffled the deck. ["We'll see."]

.

They won half and half. She accused him of pulling from the deck. He accused her of counting cards. Later, he'll learn that Jesper had the poker face of a newborn calf and that Alva was a decent bluffer but brushed her hair away from her face whenever she had a good hand. Klaus was less of a 'bluff' guy and more of a 'the rules mystify me but I keep winning, anyway' guy.

"Is this good?"

Jesper peered over his shoulder, "Oh, that's good."

"Jesper, no peeking!"

"Okay, so what you do is: put this in for trade, then draw — "

Alva tugged him back to his seat. "What part of 'don't look at other player's hands' don't you understand?"

"He asked! And I'm helping."

Selgga leaned over and whispered, ["You're all handfuls, aren't you?"]

["Bet on it."]

.

"Here," Jesper tossed a scarf to him.

"Thanks, but between Klaus' knitting and Selgga's quilts, I'm fine."

"It's not for you to warm up, it's for you to put around your eyes."

"If you're up for it," Klaus hurried to assure; as if asking someone to blindfold warranted a wellness check and was perfectly normal.

"I'm sorry, what's happening? I'm putting this blindfold on and then…? You know, this is an odd conversation to have while you guys are surrounding me while I'm in bed, I hope you're aware of that — "

The sound of disgust that emitted from Alva's throat was sweet music to his ears. "We have a surprise present for you. We were planning to give it to you during Christmas but — " she waved her hand in an encompassing gesture, " — and you were recovering for so long. But now you're almost recovered and we want to show it to you, so…"

"Hurry up." Jesper finished.

"You got a Christmas present for me? And here I thought I was on the naughty list." His smile dimmed. "But I got nothing for — "

"It's fine," Klaus said, both firm and unbearingly soft in one breath. "We weren't expecting you to. Think of it as a thank you gift for helping."

"But I wasn't helping. That was payment for next year's rounds."

"Then think of this as payment for the year after that."

Part of him wanted to argue, but a bigger part of him wanted gifts. He rubbed his hands together. "So where is it?"

"First: blindfold on. Second: it's outside. Think you can make it?"

"If not, we can wait a little longer," Klaus said. "It's not like it's going anywhere."

He didn't know if he could make the trek outside. He hadn't even left this room besides trips to the bathroom down the hall — but his mobility was improving every day and the lack of fresh air was giving him cabin fever. He wrapped the scarf over his eyes. "I'm up for it."

"Can you see this?" A whoosh of displaced air hit his face. He shook his head.

"Good," a large hand grabbed his and helped him out of bed. "Let's get going."

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They made it outside without trouble, Klaus steering him left and right until crisp air hit his skin and he gulped greedily; it was like the sludge slowing his mind sluiced away. They waited for him as he stood there, taking it in. In. Out. In. The sunlight hit his face and he walked forward for more of that sweet warmth. "Watch the stairs," Alva called. His foot searched the ground and he descended them one by one with Klaus' help.

"A little further," Jesper called. "Okay, this is a good spot."

The hand on his shoulder squeezed, and he stopped. Then Klaus turned him 180 degrees.

"All right, take it off!"

He took off the scarf and blinked. The first thing he noticed was the bright sunny day outside and the cerulean blue popping against the snow. The second thing he noticed was that this wasn't Klaus' house. A two-story house stood before him, painted a fresh cerulean trimmed with white with a wide porch in the front. It wasn't until he spotted the ship's wheel over double-wide doors did he realize —

 _"You built me a house_?"

"Well," Jesper drawled, "we didn't _build_ it. It was already here, only abandoned. We asked the town hall if we could have it and they said yes and now we're giving it to you. It took a while to fix up — "

Something welled inside him. He pressed his hand against his chest, over his heart. "What—? Why—?"

"It was Jesper's idea."

He turned to Jesper who shrugged his shoulders. "Call me spoiled, but I can't imagine sleeping in a boat to be that comfortable, and you are _not_ breaking into the post office every time you feel like it — Oh! Is this a thing? Are we — " He squeezed Jesper tighter in the hopes the idiot would shut his yap for once. It worked. He buried his face into the man's bony shoulders and laughed. He laughed and laughed until he was crying, his body wracked with sobs. He didn't know if it was exhaustion or plain gratitude or a mixture of both that had him sobbing against the postman's shoulder but it wasn't stopping anytime soon.

"Hey," Jesper patted his back, "It's okay. You're welcome."

They kept rolling down his face, fat and thick. Even as Alva and Klaus wrapped around him, his breath coming in gasps, no one said a word. By the time the tears stopped, Jesper's uniform was soaked with tears. Jesper, for once, had the tact to not comment.

"Let's go inside, shall we?" Klaus said as Mogens wiped his eyes. He nodded once.

"Oh, you'll like what we've done with the place. Ocean view, nice hardwood floor. We even installed a — "

Alva elbowed him, "Let's save it for once we get to it?"

"Right, right. So shall we start the tour?"

.

"And here we have the master bedroom," Jesper explained as he opened the door. It was still odd to think of this as his house and not someone else's. It was even odder to realize he'd been staying in his own guest bedroom without even realizing it. "I painted this one."

"You can tell by the large puddles of dark blue paint on the otherwise solid brown floor — "

"Shut it. Anyway, Duttá made your bed frame and Selgga made the blanket — "

"I went to the cartographer and got the map," Alva said, pointing to the map of Smeerensburg hanging on the far wall. "I thought it would tie the room together."

"Good choice," Mogens said.

"Klaus did the rest of the furniture of course — and oh, here's the best part!" Jesper went over to the windows and pulled the curtains closed, enveloping the room in total darkness. He rushed to the side of the room, there was the sound of a drawer opening and closing. The shadow of Jesper dashed to the center of the room and then turned to Mogens.

"Put the scarf back on."

"Do I have to? It kind of smells."

"Put it on!"

"The room's dark, do I really have to put a blindfold —?"

A deep chuckle rumbled from behind him. Mogens reared back as something covered his eyes only to stumble back into Klaus' chest. "He's blindfolded," the woodsman said.

"Okay, so…" Something creaked. A sound like a match being struck. Another creak. A few seconds passed by. "Okay, I think we're good. You can unblindfold him now."

Klaus lifted his hands and Mogens gasped as stars filled his vision. They littered the bedroom, covering the bed, the door, the walls, the ceiling — Jesper and Alva were freckled with them, and as he stared down at his own body, he realized he was freckled with them too. They slid off his skin as he moved, but new ones took their place without missing a beat and he curled his fingers around them, enraptured.

"Do you like it?"

Mogens thought he hadn't any water left in him after the cry fest earlier, but his eyes began tearing up and he smiled. "I love it." He whispered.

"Well hold on," Alva said, "We're not even finished the whole tour yet."

.

"So what do you think?" The postman asked with a sweep of his arms. "You can come up here and see the stars at night, and the light is a beacon to guide you to shore. We had it lit up for when you came back; it was how we were going to surprise you but — Well ..." He trailed off.

They installed a light on the roof. It wasn't fancy by any means, nothing like what they have in actual lighthouses, but it could pierce the fog for miles yet. After everything, could there be anything more to say? He tried anyway.

Mogens placed his hand on Jesper's shoulder, his face as solemn as he could make it. "It's perfect. Our children will love it."

"Our — " Jesper's mouth flapped open and then shut. He raised a finger and then lowered it. "We don't — We don't have children," He said slowly, as if he was trying to remember having children like one would try to remember if they picked up bread at the grocer's. At Alva's and Klaus' raised brows, he repeated firmer: "We don't have children."

"Please, Jesper," He clenched his sweater and bowed his head. "You're hurting me here. How can you forget about Bernard and Tham and Gunhild and Ninna — "

" _Are you talking about the chickens_?"

The incredulous tone broke him. He burst into laughter, there on the rooftop, and soon enough, they were all laughing together. The wind whistled past his ear and yeah, he might've lost his boat…

But now he had a home.

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(Later, when he returned to Klaus' workshop, he'd find a new sculpture occupying the tree, right next to Alva and Jesper's. Small Triangle legs and a circular middle with a white hat painted on top.)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll try to not make this too long. So first off, Sámi facts:
> 
>   1. There’s actually a lot of different Sámi languages that don’t exactly translate well with each other. I have no idea which language they speak in the movie but I’m going to assume because they’re up north, and because Northern Sámi is the largest spoken language of all the Sámi languages, that Márgu and her family speak Northern Sámi. If I’m wrong, sorry.
>   2. Sápmi is not a defined place with borders but more of a cultural region. According to Wikipedia:  
>    
>  _Sápmi (and corresponding terms in other Sámi languages) refers to both the Sámi land and the Sami people. In fact, the word "Sámi" is only the accusative-genitive form of the noun "Sápmi"—making the name's (Sámi olbmot) meaning "people of Sápmi."  
>  _  
> 
>   3. The singing in the workshop and during the fog scene, ‘voiceless and ethereal’ is actually called a yoik or joik. You guys should search it up on youtube!  
>    
>  _The joik is a unique form of cultural expression for the Sami people in[Sápmi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%C3%A1pmi). This type of song can be deeply personal or spiritual in nature, often dedicated to a human being, an animal, or a landscape as a personal signature. Improvisation is not unusual. Each joik is meant to reflect a person or place. The Sami verb for presenting a joik is a transitive verb, which is often interpreted as indicating that a joik is not a song about the person or place, but that the joiker is attempting to evoke or depict that person or place through song – one joiks one's friend, not about one's friend (similarly to how one doesn't paint or depict about a flower, but depicts the flower itself _\- Wikipedia
>   4. Jåbmå - Leaves of Mountain sorrel cooked to a stew, usually served with sugar and milk. There’s not much about this food online, so I didn’t know how to describe it, but it’s listed as a dessert.
>   5. Sáhkku is an actual Sámi board game with a lot of different variants, so I, again, made the rules as vague as possible. It looks fun though; it has a checkers vibe while looking like a chess game. But it also has a four sided stick dice.
> 

> 
> I think those are all the Sámi facts I had. So time to move onto other general facts.
> 
>   1. Yes, Klaus’ reindeer are all apparently female. Female reindeer shed their antlers in the summers while males lose theirs in the winters every year.
>   2. Chickens will molt when stressed and if no one stops them they will peck each other. Thus the phrase pecking order. (Which I didn’t know was the origin of that phrase until I researched it.)
>   3. When Jesper says, “You were singing something about Johnny.” I’m referencing [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEWS5dGSDOc).
>   4. /Someone/ on the discord pointed out that Mogens may have a house on the mainland. In the scene where he teases Jesper about love, he’s sitting on a porch. Presumably, his porch. While I don’t doubt this is probably his house, I have some arguments why it’s not.
> 

> 
> I swear I had more general facts but I’m blanking. Now moving onto Inspiration! Of course my main inspiration comes from Matt Williames, the supervisor animator of Mogens:
> 
>   1. “ _To me, Mogens is a very hurt human being who has checked out of life and emotionally keeps everyone at a distance. His goal is pleasure, and making the pursuit of pleasure your ultimate goal leads to a meaningless existence. He is the kind of character that could be really irritating and one-dimensional if not handled with some level of charm and subtext. With every moment of snark, I tried to handle it with an equal measure of charm.”_
>   2. _“When Mogens realizes that something very real is going on inside Jesper, he does a strange stagger. My thought was that he was being caught off guard by his own emotional response to Jesper leaving. He has stifled his emotions for so long that when he felt something genuine for someone it was a strange thing for him… almost like a stifled sneeze or something. After a beat I began to straighten him up.”_
>   3. Both of the above quotes from [this interview](https://www.cartoonbrew.com/how-to/how-they-did-it-matt-williames-on-developing-and-animating-a-character-in-klaus-182452.html)!
>   4. [And of course someone screencapped this bit from the artbook](https://space-pirate-alex.tumblr.com/post/189600173775/matt-williams-on-mogens).
>   5. After reading these articles and honestly, all the stuff in the discord, I really wanted to write a fic where Mogens got the sort of character growth that Jesper got and...yeah.
> 

> 
> Thank you! The comments I got from the last fic kept me motivated through writing this and I appreciate each and one of you that took the time to read it! It means a lot to me.


End file.
